


all the quiet nights you bear (seal them up with care)

by taoslefteyelid



Series: random drabbles that i'll probably never expand on [2]
Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Poison, and collapsing, as is tradition working title was:, as u do after you've been stabbed, but not sorry he's gross, cleaning wounds, don't expect anything this is all self indulgent, i shamelessly steal dialogue from minority report (2002) and make it gay, sorry to tom cruise, spy AU, vague notion of a plot in the background, yes i did it i caved and wrote the thing i always beg for, zitao's just out here knocking over vases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoslefteyelid/pseuds/taoslefteyelid
Summary: Zitao is injured so Sehun cleans his wounds for him while the word "idiot" is thrown around gratuitously. Also they kiss.
Relationships: Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao/Oh Sehun
Series: random drabbles that i'll probably never expand on [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1212114
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	all the quiet nights you bear (seal them up with care)

**Author's Note:**

> today has been an absolute shit day and so i was like why don't i go ahead and write for wip that i have been working on for months now and then i said fuck that instead worked on an entirely self indulgent spy au w dialogue excerpts from minority report (2002), the movie where tom cruise gets his life derailed by people who float in milk all the time, bc this stuff is the only thing that could bring me joy apparently. i hope you guys enjoy reading this OTL spy aus are comfort for me and this particular trope is something i cannot get enough of so!!! here u go

Sehun cocks his gun, and aims it at the hallway. 

“You’re inside my house,” he announces, matter-of-fact. Zitao grins, and steps forward, hands up in the air, barely visible in the poor lighting. 

“I know,” Zitao says. “I’m not armed-”

“Shut up,” Sehun snaps. “Fuck, Zitao, what are you doing here?” 

“No one let me explain. I had a good reason-” 

“Then why did you run? You didn’t have to run,” Sehun says, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. He’s been a field agent for more than a few years now. He can’t be shaking like this. 

“You didn’t have to chase me,” Zitao says, and takes another step closer. It lights him up a tiny bit more, and for a second Sehun thinks he sees blood, but it’s still too dark to tell. 

Sehun sighs, and he knows Zitao’s smirking right now. He wants to wipe it off his face, wants to grab him by the collar and demand why he didn’t tell Sehun about any of this, ask for answers, an explanation. 

“Protocol tells me that I should shoot you right now. In the leg or something, hurt you enough so that I can drag you back in.”    
  


“Please don’t shoot me in the leg,” Zitao says. He takes another step, nearly tripping on the table Sehun keeps in the hallway. 

“Why?” 

“Why?”, Zitao laughs, almost incredulous. “Why should you not shoot me in the leg? I don’t know. I like it. It was a gift from my mother.” 

Sehun’s eyes narrow. 

“What are you doing here, Zitao? Aren’t you supposed to be on the run now? A criminal?  _ You _ left all this behind, and now-” 

Sehun’s interrupted by a clatter, the sound of his vase filled with petunias shattering on the floor. It previously occupied a space on the table that Zitao is now propping his elbow up on, trying to keep himself upright in the face of his legs giving out. 

His gun is on the floor in a second, scrambling over out of instinct to help Zitao up. Zitao is heavy, a sizable amount bigger than Sehun, and he can barely get Zitao to struggle to his feet. 

“I… uh, I’m bleeding out,” Zitao rasps out, a far cry from the way he was joking a few seconds ago, eyes barely open as Sehun shuffles them over to the couch, cursing under his breath. “That’s why- why I came.” 

“Fuck you,” Sehun says simply, letting him settle on the couch. Zitao slumps over, and in the light Sehun can tell how badly hurt he is. There’s wounds all over, but a particularly bad one near his abdomen seems to be causing the problem. “You couldn’t fucking tell me sooner?” 

“Forgot how- how angry you get when you’re concerned,” Zitao says weakly, and Sehun barely registers it from the kitchen where he’s rushed to in order to retrieve his medical supplies. “Can you get me water?”, Zitao calls out, and Sehun lets out a million more curses before he grabs a glass and fills it up.

Sehun half runs back to the couch, water spilling over his hand a bit. He sets the medical supplies by his side and props Zitao up again, bringing a glass of water to his lips. Zitao drinks, and Sehun inspects the cuts on his face. Not too bad, but they probably hurt like hell. 

“If you fall asleep on me, I’m going to slap you,” Sehun says, as calmly as he can. He kneels, reaching over to get his scissors to cut Zitao’s blood-soaked button up open to get to the wound. “You can take that as a promise and a threat.” 

“So worried for me,” Zitao says, smiling lazily. “Be gentle, will you? I’m not prone to yelling but- but don’t get violent on me.” 

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you once I fix you up,” Sehun grits out, resolute, wincing as he looks at the wound. Zitao will need sutures. No organ damage though. Good. He can work with that. 

Sehun reaches out for the glass of water and a piece of cloth from his supply bag. He grabs some antiseptic while he’s at it. It’s strong. He’ll need to dilute it. 

“You have to- have to keep talking to me,” Zitao says. “I’ll fall asleep otherwise and-” 

“Again. I’ll slap you,” Sehun says, eyeballing the antiseptic to water ratio. He dips the cloth in the water and sits back up on his knees to be able to dab at Zitao’s wound. “This will sting.” 

“Oh fuck,” Zitao hisses, bringing a hand up to his face. “Mm, okay, okay, this is- holy  _ shit _ , Hun-ah, who the  _ fuck _ gave you this stuff?” 

“Wake you up enough?” 

“You’re a sadist.” 

“I am  _ not _ taking pleasure in this,” Sehun says, sharp, wiping at the wound one last time. “Don’t you dare insinuate that I am.” 

“Just joking, Hun-ah,” Zitao gasps out, hand over his eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be. You’ve lost so much blood, what the fuck were you wasting time making small talk with me for?” 

Sehun reaches over to pick up the needle and the surgical thread. 

“It was you,” Zitao says, seemingly calm. “Plus, you know, the whole defecting thing. Thought you should have some form of an explanation before I started dying in your arms.” 

“You’re not dying,” Sehun says, and his hands shake as he threads the needle. “And you can tell me about the defecting thing later. I wasn’t going to shoot you. I know you probably have a good reason.”

“Definitely,” Zitao says. “Feed me first, please. I don’t remember what that reason is.” 

“Will do,” Sehun sighs, putting his hand on Zitao’s chest to push him to lean back more than he already is. He needs space to work with the sutures. “I’m using the thread that dissolves,” he explains. “It’s deep.” 

“Okay,” Zitao nods. “Okay, yeah, that- that makes sense.” 

Sehun gets to work, and the only acknowledgement of the needle pushing into his skin Zitao gives is a slight intake of breath. 

“Who did this to you?”, Sehun asks, pulling the needle up, careful. He knows Zitao could do this himself, but Sehun has gentler hands. More precise. 

“Jongin.” 

Sehun’s hand hovers for a second, before going in for the next suture. 

“Are we mad at him for it?”, he asks, businesslike, not putting too much emphasis on the “we”. There is already enough emphasis on the “we”. 

“I’m not,” Zitao laughs. “Don’t know about you.” 

“Gonna stab him,” Sehun grumbles. “See how he likes it.” 

“Don’t think Chanyeol would be a fan of that.” 

“I’ll stab him too.” 

Sehun’s on his fourth stitch by now, and he can feel Zitao’s eyes on him. 

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Zitao says, in a tone he reserves only for when he’s actually being serious. “Well, I mean, I think he meant to do it, but I don’t think he’d do it if I could talk to him and Chanyeol, and-” 

“I know,” Sehun says quietly, his fingers splaying over Zitao’s skin as he pulls on the sixth suture. “I know, we’ll figure it out.” 

“You have- have steady hands,” Zitao says, hissing sharply in between. “Bold ones too. Willing to throw so much away.” 

“Willing to make sure you don’t die on me.” 

“Sunshine,” Zitao pseudo-whines. “You’ll be at my funeral giving a speech about how stupid I was. Cut me some slack.” 

Sehun breaks the thread, sutures complete, and looks up at Zitao, making sure Zitao is looking back. 

“Don’t say that,” he says, quiet, and he hopes Zitao can see how much the thought torments him. 

Zitao reaches out as best as he can in his state, bringing his hand to Sehun’s face, stroking his thumb across it. 

“Okay.” 

Sehun looks down, and then clears his throat, wiping at the caked up blood around the stitches with his cloth. He reaches for a bandage and tapes it over the wound; it should be fine for the next few hours. 

“Okay,” Sehun says, reviewing the wound, before springing up to his feet, Zitao staring up at him. “We’re done with the big one,” he announces. “Let me clean up around you, get the fire going, and we can look at the rest.” 

\---

“You’re just like the sort of person to have a fireplace,” Zitao says. The glow in the room is warm, and Sehun’s currently sitting on the couch facing him, working on disinfecting the wounds on his face. 

“Stop talking, idiot,” Sehun mumbles out softly. 

“I like talking.”

“I’m aware, but I wouldn’t have to fix you up like this if you weren’t so fucking reckless all the time, so you can do me a favour, and keep shut.” 

Sehun dabs at the cut on Zitao’s cheekbone with one hand, gently cradling Zitao’s face with the other, fully aware of his gaze on him. He leans forward a tiny bit, just to see better, and his pendant falls out from beneath his shirt. 

“You still wear that?”, Zitao asks. Sehun colours. 

“Shut up.” 

Then: 

“Never took it off.” 

Zitao had given it to him during their first joint mission two years ago. It was supposed to be for show, part of their cover, a chain slipped across his neck and a kiss pressed to his hand, Zitao playing at being the gentleman and Sehun playing at being wooed. There was something genuine about the way Zitao had smiled and called him pretty after he slipped the necklace on, though. Sehun thinks about it a lot. 

“Looks good on you.What do you keep in it?” 

“What do I what?”, Sehun asks, distracted by the thought of the ointment he needs to make sure the cuts heal soon and the thought of Zitao’s lips on his hand. 

“The pendant. The little container part. What do you keep in it? Photos? Glitter?” 

“Poison.” 

“Ah,” Zitao says, leaning ever so slightly into Sehun’s hand. “I should’ve known. Use it on anyone yet?” 

“I’ll use it on you if you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

“Hun-ah,” Zitao says, serious again all of a sudden. “Look at me.” 

Sehun slides his eyes up from his own hand, to Zitao’s cut, to Zitao’s eyes. There’s a deep and unsettling silence around them, fireplace crackling in the background softly. Everywhere Sehun’s touching Zitao is lit up right now. Zitao is looking at him as softly as possible, and he feels like  _ he’s  _ the one who’s going to pass out. 

“What is it?”, he asks, quiet, and his fingers have gone to resting on Zitao’s face instead of cleaning it, something he doesn’t remember doing. 

“Thank you,” Zitao breathes out. 

They stare at each other for another second and it feels like eternity; Sehun’s breathing slows, and he’s thinking about the million ways this could go wrong. Zitao is staring at him like he’s the universe, though, and it’s making Sehun feel like he’s being gently microwaved. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, shifting so that he’s on his knees on the couch, now positioned over Zitao, and when he opens them, Zitao tilts his head a little, and presses the smallest kiss to the heel of his palm. 

Sehun leans down then, pressing their lips together, holding Zitao with trembling fingers like he’s fragile, because right now he is. Zitao kisses back, and Sehun lets him lead, content with the fire crackling behind them and the unhurried manner in which Zitao kisses him, as if they have all the time in the world. 

They eventually have to break apart for air, and Sehun presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes, breathing heavy. 

“Hun-”, Zitao starts, but Sehun shushes him. 

“Next time you get into a mess like this,” Sehun says, and he can feel one of Zitao’s hands on him. “No matter what, you come and get me, okay? You don’t leave me.” 

“Okay,” Zitao agrees. “Okay, I will.” 

“Now,” Sehun says, his hands resting on Zitao’s shoulders. “I’m going to try not to think about you collapsing, because I will cry if I do, and you’re going to tell me exactly what happened.” 

Sehun settles, sitting down properly, face still pressed against Zitao’s, easier now that they’re around the same height. 

Zitao nods, as if completely dumbfounded by the kiss which seems to have just caught up to him. Sehun watches as he brings a finger up to his lips. 

“Then you can kiss me for however long you want,” Sehun adds in there, and watches Zitao light up. “You have curfew, though. You’re going to bed as soon as I tell you to.” 

Zitao nods again, and then leans in. Sehun isn’t going to deny him. 

If Zitao wants to sneak a kiss, Sehun will let him. 

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave encouragement or words of wisdom in the comments i am: struggling,,, or u could just yell at me abt the boys being soft either works
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hztwsx) and [Tumblr](https://taohun.tumblr.com).


End file.
